


held your hand through the darkest night.

by redhoods



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, M/M, Supernatural AU: Croatoan/End'verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-09
Updated: 2013-03-09
Packaged: 2017-12-04 19:26:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/714182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redhoods/pseuds/redhoods
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Atlanta and before Miami, they come across a city, empty except for destruction and corpses and big red letters on the wall that read ‘CROATOAN’. The walkie talkie crackles to life between Walt and Ray and it’s Nate’s voice that filters through the line, “Croatoan was carved into a tree on Roanoke Island, also called the Lost Colony. I’m not completely sure on the history but the whole colony disappeared and there have been several theories as to why, one of which was a virus that wiped them all out.”</p><p>“Leave it to Nate to give us a history lesson while the world is falling apart,” Ray mutters and Walt hums his agreement.</p>
            </blockquote>





	held your hand through the darkest night.

**Author's Note:**

> idefk what this is. i reallyreallyreally don't.

The newscaster seems only seconds from panic when there’s a knock on his apartment door and Walt’s fingers instinctively reach for his gun, wrapping around the handle as the knocking gets louder, “Who’s it?” He calls, barely taking his eyes off the tv though every instinct, everything ever beaten into him, says to look to the door, pay attention to what’s happening.

“Walt, motherfucker, the world is ending and you’re worried about who’s at the damn door!”

Relief washes over Walt and he nearly trips over the end table to get to the door and wrench it open, “Jesus Christ, Ray!” And then promptly drags the smaller man into a hug.

Ray shoves at his chest, “Hasser, you sunshine fucking puppy, let me go, we’ll have plenty of time for this later,” he mutters and Walt releases him, eyebrow lifted.

“The hell you talking about?”

It’s then that he notices Ray has kevlar on and, yeah, definitely a gun on one hip and what looks like the hilt of a blade on the other, “Rallying the troops, dumb ass,” he mutters before shoving past Walt into the apartment and heading straight for the bedroom.

Walt blinks and then follows after him, eyebrow lifted as he watches Ray start shoving his things into a duffle, “Ray, what the hell, would you tell me what’s going on?” He insinuates himself between Ray and his bag, pulling the handful of clothes from Ray’s grasp.

“Look, everything is going to hell in a handbasket and that virus shit is spreading like wildfire and there’s no one out there to stop it,” Ray actually looks serious, focused and still, “Brad and I just got here from Pendleton and we’re trying to get together a crew to at least contain this shit.”

Eyebrows furrowed, Walt turns and starts shoving the clothes in the bag, “Who else ya got?”

Ray is in the bathroom banging around and pokes his head out with a grin, “You’re first, motherfucker,” and then pauses, pursing his lips, “Well, Brad went for Nate, but you were closer, so there’s no way he beat me,” before disappearing back into the bathroom, banging around more, “This is the fruitiest smelling body wash ever, homes!”

“Why are you smelling my body wash?” Walt calls back, shoving his extra bullets into it as well as the blades he’s collected over the years.

“Curiosity,” Ray responds as he steps out of the bathroom, dropping a plastic bag into the one Walt had been tossing knives into, “Come on, we gotta go. You have a truck, right?”

Walt nods and starts back into the living room, grabbing his keys off the desk, “We need anything else?”

Humming, Ray nods a little, “Batteries and food, homes, we’re going into this war prepared,” and Walt grins, following Ray into the kitchen.

\--

Sunset has left everything glowing yellow and Walt has to shift in the seat, fingers flexing around the steering wheel as he follows Brad’s jeep along the almost completely deserted highway. Ray’s hanging halfway out the passenger window, smoking a cigarette and belting out shitty pop music. Huffing a sigh, Walt reaches over and slaps Ray’s thigh to get his attention, “Would you shut the hell up?”

“Careful, Walter, you’re starting to sound like Bradley,” Ray responds, shit eating grin and all.

Walt isn’t sure how he, how any of them, survived Iraq without putting a bullet between Ray’s eyes. And Ray’s laugh lets him know that he definitely said that one out loud.

Thankfully the crackling of the shitty walkie talkie on the seat between them saves them from any further argument, “Gentlemen,” Ray snorts next to him and Walt shakes his head, “We are approaching Camp Lejeune and undoubtedly a steaming pile of bureaucratic bullshit, so if you want to backout, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Ray gets his hand on the walkie talkie before Walt even has a chance to move, “Speaking now,” he starts and Brad comes on the line long enough to sigh audibly, “I really think this is a shitty idea.”

Reaching over, Walt gets his hand around the walkie talkie, tugging until Ray lets it go, “I’m only going to say this once, Brad, but I think Ray’s right.”

“I agree,” and it’s not Brad, it’s Nate. “I mean, they’ve got the weapons and supplies, but they’re going to lock us down and I don’t know about you, but I’d rather do some good, than just be locked up with ammo I can’t use.”

“Then we power through to the next big city, do what we can and roll out?”

Walt spares a glance at Ray, who nods so hard his whole body moves with the force of it, “Solid copy.”

\--

They come across Atlanta first and the news reports that have steadily decreased don’t even begin to cover it, “Fuck,” is the first thing Walt manages and they aren’t even inside the city, just on the outskirts. Ray is completely silent next to him, staring out the window, knuckles white from how tightly he’s holding his gun.

The walkie talkie crackles between them, “Stay close, Walt, we’re going to try and stay to the outer edges of the city, it looks like there might be a quarantine set up,” Nate’s voice fills the lines, strong and steady.

Ray’s gaze finally leaves the crumbling edges of the city and he grabs the comm and Walt doesn’t even bother stopping him, “Solid copy,” and lets it slip from his grip, neither of them blinking when it hits the floorboards with a soft thud.

\--

After Atlanta and before Miami, they come across a city, empty except for destruction and corpses and big red letters on the wall that read ‘CROATOAN’. The walkie talkie crackles to life between Walt and Ray and it’s Nate’s voice that filters through the line, “Croatoan was carved into a tree on Roanoke Island, also called the Lost Colony. I’m not completely sure on the history but the whole colony disappeared and there have been several theories as to why, one of which was a virus that wiped them all out.”

“Leave it to Nate to give us a history lesson while the world is falling apart,” Ray mutters and Walt hums his agreement.

Brad slows in front of them and Walt pulls his truck behind him, parking and watching Brad climb out of the jeep. The walkie talkie crackles again, “He’s checking to see if there’s any supplies or people.”

Ray’s the one to grab it, responding with a, “Solid copy.”

Relaxing back into the seat, Walt barely even registers when Ray sidles up to him, head dropping to Walt’s shoulder, “Ray, what the hell?”

“I want a nap and the window is a shitty pillow,” he replies, turning one of his ridiculous grins up at Walt.

Walt sighs, like he’s been put out, but curls his right arm around Ray’s shoulder regardless and uses his free hand to pull forwards once Brad’s back in the jeep. “This really can’t be comfortable, Ray,” he states after a few minutes of driving and Ray has shifted for the umpteenth time.

Ray doesn’t even respond, just tips sideways, his head ending up in Walt’s lap, glancing up at him seemingly unsure.

Chewing on his lip, Walt directs his gaze back to the road and neither of them mentions it when they stop again and Ray wakes up with Walt’s fingers carding through his hair.

\--

They come across Q-Tip - Evan, he mutters - in Florida, by chance or by planning, Walt’s not sure. Regardless, he refuses to take Ray in his car, not that Walt blames him, but it’s how Ray ends up driving the truck while Walt tries to sleep some. He’s not sure how long he’s been out when the truck jerks to a stop and nearly dumps him in the floorboards. “Fuck, what the hell, Ray?!”

“Contact right!” is the only response he gets and that’s when Walt hears the gunshots, fingers already reaching for his gun while his other hand rolls the window down.

The sight that greets him isn’t what Walt expects and his hand actually shakes when he goes to fire, “They’re kids, Ray.”

Ray is practically vibrating in the driver’s seat, eyes resolutely focused on the back of Brad’s jeep. “Not anymore, Walt,” is the soft response he gets, “They’re infected, they’re not people anymore.”

Walt swallows heavily and starts repeating Ray’s words like a mantra, popping off shots out the window, even though most of them don’t seem to do too much good.

Once they’re through it, on the other side of the city, back to open highway, Nate makes the command decision to stop for gas and Ray has to pry Walt’s gun from his fingers.

\--

It’s not until they’re on the return north that they find a town, lock themselves up in an old factory with high gates that reality seems to set in, if only a little. Walt’s trying to scrub some dirt off his skin and maybe blood when Nate steps into the bathroom. They watch each other in the cracked mirror for a while, before Nate sighs and steps closer, pulling the rag from his hands and setting it down, dragging Walt from the sink, “Come on, Stafford made dinner.”

Walt shrugs out of Nate’s grasp with a soft sigh, “I’m not hungry.”

Nate turns to him then, eyes bright, “Walt, you have to eat something,” he murmurs softly, “Please.”

Rubbing a hand over his head, Walt looks away, “I can’t keep anything down, not after -”

“Just try some toast then,” Nate cuts him off, eyebrow lifted, “You’re getting skinnier than you were after Iraq,” he adds and doesn’t wait for a response, already steering Walt towards the sound of talking with an arm around his shoulders.

\--

The truck gets blown to shit as a decoy and Walt gets crammed into the backseat of Q-Tip’s little two door with Ray. Ray, who is fiddling with the half smashed pieces of the walkie talkie, half in Walt’s lap. “Ray, really, can’t that wait until we’re back and you and Brad can go do whatever it is that you do when you say you’re trying to fix shit.”

“Obviously we’re getting it on but that’s besides the point of why you’re being a whiny bitch,” Ray replies, not even looking up, though Walt’s certain that’s because he’d smack his head off the ceiling with how he has himself positioned.

“We just blew my truck sky high, maybe that’s why I’m being a whiny bitch,” Walt gripes back.

Q-Tip barely stifles a laugh in the front and Mike sighs softly, “No wonder Brad wanted away from them,” he mutters and then that’s when they pull into the compound and Walt pushes his way out of the car before Evan even has a chance to get out of the driver’s seat.

Brad’s the one that finds him, hunkered down next to the building, smoking through a third cigarette and starting to shiver. “Hasser, you dumb hick,” he mutters, pulling the cigarette from his grasp to take his own hit off it, before dropping gracefully to the ground, his entire side pressed against Walt’s, radiating unnatural warmth.

“You guys really need a better nickname for me,” he mutters and presses into Brad’s side, making a grab for the cigarette, huffing when Brad pulls it from his grip.

Flicking the cigarette away from them, Brad settles his other arm around Walt, “What’s going on with you?” His voice is soft, pressing his forehead to Walt’s temple. It’s a side of Brad that Walt’s not used to, a side brought out by seeing their whole world tearing itself apart.

Walt sighs heavily and shrugs a little, tipping his head back some, though not enough to dislodge Brad, “Can’t sleep anymore,” he answers after a few minutes of silence and Brad’s eyes boring into him, “That virus, whatever the hell it is, it doesn’t discriminate and I don’t think I can shoot another kid.”

Sucking in a heavy breath, Brad nods and grips Walt’s arm, dragging him sideways until he’s seated between Brad’s thighs, back to chest, “Walt, when that virus takes them, they aren’t kids anymore,” he replies softly, face pressed into Walt’s hair, “I know it’s not easy to separate it like that, you don’t compartmentalize like I do, like Nate does, and you can’t cover it well like Ray does -”

“Hey -”

“Shut up, I’m not done,” Brad interjects, splaying his hand over Walt’s chest, warm even through the layers, “That’s what makes you better than the rest of us.”

And Walt doesn’t really know how to respond to that, doesn’t have an argument though he knows he should have one.

Brad sighs, soft against the back of Walt’s head and Walt can tell when Brad presses his lips there in a kiss, “You’re the one that reminds us why we do what we do, Walt, and it may be selfish, but you have to hang on.”

It’s quiet for a few seconds and Walt nods. They stay like that for what feels like ages before Ray comes looking for them, stomping loud enough to wake the dead.

\--

It’s two months after Walt and Brad have their conversation that Mike gets infected. They all see it coming on and Nate gets this haunted look in his eyes. One nod from Brad and Walt is corralling Nate away from the group and up the stairs of the house they’re crashing in.

When they get into Nate’s room, he sinks to the bed like a stone and Walt feels like the world is falling out from under them. He sits next to Nate, leaning into his side, resting his chin on Nate’s shoulder. They’re quiet, so much that they hear the front door open and shut, before Nate shudders against him, “Walt, _Walt_.”

Walt nods and shushes him softly, at a loss for anything else to do as he curls his arms around Nate’s shoulder, drawing him in tightly. “It’s gonna be okay, Nate,” he mutters against Nate’s too long hair, barely wincing when Nate’s fingers dig into his sides so tight there’s going to be bruises later.

He continues to just say soft things, reassurances and other nonsense, and he’s not sure how long it is before he notices Brad in the doorway, and barely conceals the noise that bubbles up in him when Brad shakes his head. And Brad comes over, slumping onto Nate’s other side. It only takes a few minutes for Ray to join them, but by that point, Brad and Walt have shifted them to laying down, Nate sandwiched between them. Ray doesn’t say anything, just curls up to Walt’s back.

\--

After that, the haunted look never really leaves Nate’s eyes and Ray starts to look like he did during Baghdad. Brad notices first and Walt notices soon after him, it’s hard not to when they all stay in such close quarters.

It’s why Walt drags Ray with him when they head for bed, manhandling him onto the mattress and curling up behind him once Ray finally settles. And he’s nearly dozed off, when Nate and Brad join them, shifting Ray and Walt closer to the edge.

Walt dozes again, not quite sleeping, just slumped between Nate and Ray, when Nate starts to almost shake in his sleep, and Walt knows the signs of nightmares as well as anyone. When he manages to shift, Brad is staring back at him with dark eyes and Nate nearly cracks skulls with him when he suddenly sits up with a gasp.

“Nate,” Brad mutters softly, reaching out and drawing Nate back to his chest, and Walt knows he’ll never get the sound Nate makes, like a choked off sob, out of his head.

Behind him, Ray stirs and fits himself to Walt’s back, his chin hooked over Walt’s shoulder, “S’going on?”

By then, Nate has turned himself to hide his face in Brad’s chest and Brad looks completely lost, so Walt shifts forward, bringing Ray with him so they can fit against Nate’s back. It’s the only comfort Walt knows to offer and he hopes it’s enough.

“This is more homoerotic than Iraq,” Ray mutters against his shoulder and it draws a soft, shaky laugh from Nate, so Walt decides not to elbow Ray. Brad doesn’t seem to share his thoughts on it, so he reaches out and cuffs Ray over the back of the head, which leads to the four of them scuffling until Ray topples over the edge of the bed with a shout.

Walt peeks his head over the edge of the bed, grinning down at Ray who has decided to sprawl on the floor, “You gonna come back up here?”

Ray purses his lips and shakes his head, “Nope, gonna stay down here.”

It’s Nate who laughs first and Walt lets out a sound of surprise when Nate drags him back to his chest, “That’s fine, we’ll keep Walt for ourselves.”

The reaction is nearly instantaneous, Ray’s head popping up at the side, “Oh, hell no, I get partial custody of the puppy.”

“You know, I think we might just get through whatever the hell is going on out there.”

Ray snorts, climbing up on the bed, “‘course we are, Bradley, can’t believe you ever doubted that.”

“Yes, of course, how silly of me,” Brad drawls.

And, well, Walt has to agree with Brad, though, “Brad’s right, you know,” he mutters and Ray sobers, actually listening, “There for a while, I didn’t think we’d manage it, but we might actually have a snowball’s chance.”

“Yeah, yeah, we got it, homes-” Ray starts and Walt cups a hand over his mouth before he can continue, dragging him down to the bed.

Nate reaches out, dragging them both back to him, “Ray, you should consider shutting up, just enjoy the moment.”

Letting his hand fall from Ray’s mouth, Walt grins, pressing his face into the back of Ray’s shoulder. “Get some sleep, tomorrow we can look into finding somewhere a little more long term.”

“The marines made us so gay that we’re looking for a place to live together.”

And no one faults Walt for pushing Ray back off the bed.

**Author's Note:**

> there are probably mistakes galore and plot holes and such, but i can't even be bothered to care.


End file.
